Love Life

Although I walk upright on two feet, I am a fish of sorts. My mind flips through images and ideas at a high-speed fast forward pace. As I rest my head every night, my mind continues in thoughts, but in an uncontrolled manner. These are my dreams.

Recently, I haven’t felt too inspired by anything. Unfortunately my subconscious has been aboard the same boat, leaving me blank in the morning. I am all about analyzing my dreams to uncover their hidden truths, but I guess it is time to temporarily put a stop to that.

They seem to be lost in my skulled library, waiting to be pulled and dusted. Sometimes they are so real and vivid, I have trouble distinguishing between the dream itself and reality. Where does the line need to be drawn? In many cases, I feel a line is unnecessary, as long as you interpret your dreams into ambitions, hopes and aspirations for yourself. Dreams are what keep me going. They are my source for ideas and happiness, but I admit to frequently fall into the negative category of thinking too much.

Until last night, I had nothing to say. While I was in bed slowly feeling the heavy blanket of sadness and longing beginning to cover my body, my phone rang. It was just who I needed- my incredible cousin, Erin.

While I have two siblings of my own, Erin is more of a sister than a cousin. I could effortlessly write a million entries about her and how I have looked up her my entire life, but instead I will explain why she is the reason for getting this ball rolling.

This summer, Erin was diagnosed with cervical cancer. It took Erin and our family by shock, leaving notepads filled with questions. As a theme in any Irish family, we knew everything would work out. Why? Because it has to.

She was scheduled for surgery to remove part of her cervix via a cone biopsy, but quickly learned that they didn’t get it all and a second surgery was looming like another dark cloud.

Only this time, much more is at stake. September 11 is the date. As Erin will drift into an anesthesia induced dream state, the outcome will be unknown. She will have one of two procedures performed: a trachelectomy, where they cervix is removed, but the uterus is spared to preserve fertility, or a full hysterectomy.

She is 24 years old, healthy as can be, more beautiful than should be allowed with a spitfire personality and drive to master anything. This news came the day after she moved into an apartment in NYC with her wonderfully supportive boyfriend, Jeff, and little diva kitty, Swo.

Erin is an editor for a magazine and hasn’t missed a day since she was hit with this news. The awful realities of insurance and unsympathetic ears have hurt, but Erin is proactive and absolutely not willing to forfeit this fight.

With September only a day away, the thoughts pile higher and the dreams don’t stop. Erin has been dreaming about the surgery every night. She was telling me that they [her dreams] are so real and frightening; they wake her up in a state of panic. This is totally normal and expected, but do they mean something? Are they a way for us to send messages to ourselves? I believe so. Her dreams were about the hospital, fears and the unknown. If this were just going to be a standard knee surgery, with six weeks of rehab, then I know she would feel a little more at ease. This is not the case. She doesn’t know what lies ahead. If the only option they find that will clear her body of cancer to be a hysterectomy, then Erin’s lifelong dream of having children of her own will no longer be a possibility.

As I listened to Erin and her uncomfortably real dreams and concerns for the future, I was left grateful, but more than anything, hopeful.

It’s rather funny how things like this happen to such genuinely good people. I think it is because they are the only ones who can handle it and who will come out on top. It is their strength that many of us lack, but ought to strive to find. Erin is a girl of the mountains (we are from Colorado) and now a New Yorker. Living life in the city that never sleeps is tiring, but inspiring. Life isn’t a ray of sunshine, with cervical cancer as Erin’s only grey cloud. Her uncle was undergoing treatment for throat and neck cancer during all of this, her grandmother passed away and one month before Erin graduated from college, she lost her father, my Uncle Greg.

It has been two years since he slipped away, but every single day he is part of our thoughts and dreams. He was the “cool” uncle, the one I could talk to about boys and would always have the best advice that never failed. Luckily I have an amazing dad of my own, where words cannot describe his undeniable love and unique perspective on life, but the absence of Greg still feels like I lost a father figure.

I guarantee I will write entries about him, but now I cannot. I feared more than anything when he died that we would lose touch with his kids (Erin and Eric) because of divorce, but Erin and I would not let that happen. If anything, his death has forced us to come together and fill his large void with love and laughter. I just returned to school from visiting Erin, Jeff and Swo in New York and found proof that love and family and time heals all.

Links: http://www.webmd.com/cancer/tc/cervical-cancer-topic-overview

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